Chapter 25 The Wedding
THE WEDDING
I came out of the bathroom and into Battle’s and my bedroom at Primrose Lodge, the country seat of Rally’s viscounty up in Somerset.
I did it touching my hat and saying, “Okay, I rock this thing.”
Then I stopped dead.
Holy shit.
Battle was wearing gray trousers, a cream waistcoat, a white shirt, and a black morning coat with a peach tie.
Fucking hell.
“I knew this was a mistake,” he groused.
My attention shifted from the vision of him being a full-on, super-hot duke in that getup to his face to see him scowling at my outfit.
Since I was finding my online shopping trawls tedious due to me being in the middle of writing my book, Tempie had taken me in hand.
So, to Rally and Courtney’s wedding ceremony, I was wearing a lilac suit with a complicated lapel that showed off a lot of my chest, the straight skirt molded to my ass and hips, and a matching hat that sat at an angle and went up high on one side to showcase some intricate net swirls.
Bummed at his reaction, I looked down at myself. “Is this not okay?”
“I knew I should have let you go to the ceremony with the girls,” he stated.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because, seeing you looking like a sex-kitten duchess, I no longer want to go at all.”
If I could glow, I would have burned a hole in the side of the lodge.
“Well, you’re not so bad yourself, my Lord Duke.”
He reached a hand to me. “Let’s get going,” he said tersely, then he told me something I already knew, “They’re taking some of the groomsmen pictures before the wedding.”
I was very aware going with him to watch him and a bunch of other dudes have their pictures taken would probably bore me silly.
But last night, in a little Talyn Family huddle at a small (if you called fifty people small) pre-wedding dinner party, Tempie had dropped the bomb that Courtney had dropped on her.
This being that she’d made the unhinged decision not to revoke Chelsea’s invitation after her behavior at The Downs.
“So Battle can rub Vivi in her face! She’ll just die. Isn’t it smashing?!” Tempie had taken on Courtney’s excitement in a droll way when she related this to us.
Normally, I’m all for vengeance.
But after what Chelsea said about Prue and Chassie, with them right there listening, Battle was concerned he might not be able to handle being anywhere near her without causing a scene, something he didn’t want to do at one of his best mates’ weddings.
He also didn’t want her to say anything else to them or to me.
And this was why I was sticking close.
I went to him and took his hand.
“You are the very model of the modern duke,” I said.
“You’ll keep your cool, I know you will.
And as Tempie said, with Chelsea’s personality, she’s eventually going to whittle down her choices to some loser who she can walk all over who will make her extremely unhappy.
We’ve already won, baby. She can’t do anything to us. ”
“That doesn’t mean, if she does, it won’t piss me right off.”
Well then.
What did you say to that?
Because he was right.
But for Rally and Courtney, I knew he’d keep his cool.
Thus, I decided on saying nothing, just sticking to my plan of keeping an eye out.
He tucked my hand around his elbow, and we headed out.
Primrose Lodge was outstanding from the outside, though smaller than The Downs.
But inside, they’d kept décor that had probably been there since two turns of a century.
It wasn’t worn down, but it was worn (mildly) and dated (completely).
Still pretty, in its way.
But it wasn’t bright and warm and open, like The Downs.
While all sorts of scurrying was going on throughout the house, Battle escorted me out of it and onto the lawn, slowing his gait as I navigated it in my nude heels.
He then sat me in one of the white chairs arranged before an arch festooned splendiferously in peach, cream and yellow flowers, set up in front of the detached orangery.
He bent and touched his lips to mine, then moved to the other men wearing morning suits who were loitering at the arch.
Okay.
So…
It was a month after the Hamish/Christian weekend at The Downs.
And a lot had happened.
Let’s get into it.
* * *
First, I started my book, and yes, it was obsessing me.
Though, two things were cool about writing in the studio.
One, I found it was kind of fun to “go to work” rather than stumbling to my desk in my house with a cup of coffee and a bedhead.
At The Downs, I got up.
I took a shower.
I got dressed.
Then the cats and I headed out to the studio, now covered in blooming wisteria, which if the wind blew, sent confetti petals all over the place. And the wind blew often.
It was like being in my own magical little world.
I would arrive in the studio to what Patsy sorted for me to be treated to: a big carafe of coffee, a jug of cream in a bed of ice and something lovely but easy to eat, like an almond croissant and some fruit or a bacon butty (and some fruit).
The second thing that was cool about writing my book in that studio (okay, so this wasn’t strictly about the studio, but it was about what I was doing there) was running my chapters by Battle, I found to my surprise, was awesome.
Due to that response, obviously, he hadn’t nixed anything (yet).
But his compliments and enthusiasm meant the world.
Better?
When he was home, he didn’t get all demanding of my time, or pouty that he didn’t have it.
No, in fact, if I called to the house for a sandwich or something, often, it was Battle who brought it out to me.
Not to interrupt me. I only got my delivery and a quick kiss.
He did it to support me.
In other words, we could say, for a variety of reasons, the “falling” bit of falling in love was no longer part of the equation (and that was the best of all of this).
Other than that, everyone left me alone to do my thing, and that was crazy kind.
However, that didn’t mean things didn’t happen.
They did.
* * *
The unsurprising stuff:
We still hadn’t run across Charlie’s letters.
I was beginning to think this might be a rare miss in Ravenna’s psychic powers.
The only thing I knew was, it was what it was, and as usual, I just had to sally forth.
So I did.
* * *
The kinda boring stuff:
I took Noelle up to a run and I didn’t fall off.
Progress.
I also, at Battle’s suggestion (all right, it was a demand, but I decided to think of it as a suggestion), phoned Mr. Atkins and told him I’d found other accommodation, and I wouldn’t be taking the cottage.
As he said he would be, Mr. Atkins was cool with it.
And so I wouldn’t miss out on time by the sea, Battle promised to take me there for a weekend, if I found a time in my writing where I could go.
So that was something to look forward to.
* * *
The oh-so-not boring stuff:
Those candlesticks were Chippendale.
Yep.
They were.
And that only scratched the surface.
The curator from the V and A lost her mind, and since her visit, Prue had more than a half a dozen experts out to look at things, authenticate them and value them.
She’d found tons of stuff in that old filing cabinet to help (but alas, nothing that would help my book, all the stuff in the cabinet predated 1880).
There were two more Chippendale pieces, gorgeous giltwood and painted satinwood pier tables that the four siblings agreed would be perfect on either side of the opening to the great hall. Thus, they’d been taken away to be cleaned.
Further, there was a Hepplewhite piece, three by Alexander Roux, five by Lannuier and one by Eileen Gray (Prue, no surprise, was keeping the Gray).
There was also a Sisley painting (which had been taken away as well to be cleaned so it could be displayed somewhere in The Downs).
And then some.
A lot more some.
This engendered a spirited conversation at the dinner table one weekend, the only times now when both Battle and Tempie were home (as such, Hamish was also always there, and a not so important aside: he was hilarious, totally down-to-earth, super friendly, and so much Tempie’s opposite, it made them perfect).
And that was when I learned what The Fund was.
Not at the table.
I asked Battle when we went back to his bedroom.
“There’s an untouchable endowment that pays for property taxes, maintenance, upgrades and staffing of The Downs and Burleigh House,” he shared.
“I manage this carefully, though I can only make moderate- to low-risk investments to keep it growing, as the terms of the endowment dictate. Outside those reasons, it cannot be touched, and by that I mean, withdrawals made. We can deposit whatever we wish, but once it’s in, it can’t come out. ”
“That makes sense.”
Although it did, it only partially explained a fascinating question I had that I hadn’t asked (because…truth: even if Battle and I were what we were becoming, still, at this juncture in our relationship, it would be rude).
That question being how they managed to keep that property and their lives the way they did.
Battle had already explained some of the estate’s income, and even if he didn’t get into detail, I knew no way would that cover all of their lifestyles.
And sure, I knew Battle was very wealthy, but there’s wealth and then there was The Downs and Burleigh House, horses, cars, security, staff, recent redecoration, the way all of them dressed, etc.
And Battle was wealthy. Tempie managed income they’d probably had for centuries, and Prue and Chassie didn’t have jobs.
Therefore, it did not explain Prue’s four-hundred-pound beanie, Chassie’s three-hundred-pound dresses or Tempie’s Versace shoes.
Battle must have seen my confusion, because he continued, “There’s a surplus from The Fund at the moment, which I reinvest. The income Tempie makes, which is considerable, is split between the three of them.
Not equitably, since Tempie does all the work, but Prue nor Chassie has any other expenditures, so it’s rare they’ll ask for more.
And when they do, it’s for something like Chassie’s flower shop, which I funded personally. ”